


The Merry Go Round Has No Survivors

by TristansGirl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Choking. Dub-con to non-con kissing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kissing games spinning out of control</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Merry Go Round Has No Survivors

The hotel room is a suite, as befits Adam’s new status.

He’s a star and the tour’s making money and the powers that be don’t mind splurging.

They converge there, the impossibly large California king acting like a beacon that calls them in.

Not all of them, however. Brooke is not there, neither is Monte But the rest of them are and when they begin to open up bottle after bottle of colorful liquor, it feels like an extension of them, a natural flow.

Tommy feels the buzz of the alcohol like numbing ice on his skin and in his veins. Things get slow and silly and manic all at the same time and he laughs and wraps himself around bodies, enjoying the feel of heat against heat. He likes this feeling, likes feeling not-quite drunk, likes riding that fuzzy edge.

He’s sure that he’s not the only one.

All of them have been drinking enough to cause a shift in the room, to take normal behavior and spin it around. Tommy can feel that spinning, can see it happening, and it’s like a funhouse, like the room of mirrors, too bright, too shiny, but such a fun fucking head trip.

He can feel the spinning when Can and Sasha start kissing, then when Taylor and Terrence do.

Things spin faster and faster and Tommy loses track of who’s kissing who, who is wrapped around whose body. He decides that it doesn’t matter as he climbs atop Terrence, bringing their mouths together, both of them laughing beneath the heat. Laughing, because this is still fun, an adventure, something that keeps skittering between playful joke and pure want.

He kisses Terrance and moves on to Taylor, just a peck. Kisses and laughs and moves on to Cam and Sasha . . .

Not Isaac though. Isaac will not play. He watches from the corner and he laughs but he will not play.

But that’s ok, because Adam’s here now, in front of him, gripping Tommy’s shoulders tight and Adam’s presence makes everybody else’s diminish.

He can hear their laughter, tinny and distorted and far away as Adam kisses him, working his mouth open and sliding his tongue inside.

There’s no play with Adam, no smile hiding underneath. Only something so hot that it scorches. Tommy lets it take him, feels that heat move along his body and down into his very bones. And he’s so warm now and it feels like he’s melting as he falls back onto the bed.

The ride is dizzying now and all he can do is hold on. Adam's hand is just above his hip, underneath the hem of his shirt and his fingertips are cool against his skin where the rest of him is so hot. They’re going farther than they ever have, past the flirting, past the stage kisses. Those kisses are nothing, they are empty and they mean nothing. This, the way Adam licks into Tommy's mouth, the way he nibbles at Tommy's lips, as if there is nothing in the world he'd rather be doing . . . no other place he'd rather be . . .

This means everything.

And then it twists, becoming too much. A little too stifling, too much like being on display and Tommy laughs, smiles and pushes against Adam, pushing his body up and away.

But Adam only grins against his mouth and pushes right back, pushing Tommy back down to the bed, his teeth cutting sharply into Tommy’s lower lip.

Tommy ignores the sting and tries again, turning his head, freeing his mouth as he pushes. He says something that’s meant to be, “Chill out. Ok, we’re done.” But what comes out is a muffled, “Whoa.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Maybe for Adam to back off or Adam to slow down. What he most definitely is not expecting is for Adam to lay his hand across his throat and squeeze.

He shudders and tips his head back without conscious thought, eyes fluttering closed against the new sensation.

He’s done this before, with girls who like to play at being rough, a couple that actually were. But even the strongest of them, even the ones who enjoyed it a little too much, still had a soft touch.

This is not soft, it’s not gentle and it’s not playful. It’s a vice around his neck and Tommy brings his own hand up to join Adam’s, a bid to urge those fingers away.

But Adam’s grip only manages to tighten, his mouth on Tommy’s once more. It’s not a kiss, not really. Not when Tommy can’t breathe, no air coming in through his closed off throat, Adam stealing what precious little of it he has in his lungs.

His mind, too fuzzy and slow still from the alcohol, doesn’t understand what’s happening, and his body takes over, his hands forming fists as they beat against Adam’s shoulders.

Adam loosens his grip, pulling away long enough to allow Tommy to catch his breath. He takes one swift gulp of air, readying his voice to call Adam a shit, ready to grab some more of the pretty liquor and forget that fucked up, little divergence, when Adam surges forward.

Tommy’s not even sure how it happens, he can’t seem to track things, losing connections. One moment he’s trying to sit up, the next moment, Adam has him pinned back down to the mattress, his hand clenching around Tommy’s throat.

Tommy feels Adam’s lips against his own, but it’s not a kiss. It feels more like a hostile takeover, with the way Adam’s using his weight to hold him down, using his hand to steal Tommy’s breath and voice away from him.

He manages a harsh push, manages to twist his mouth away from Adam’s.

“Stop. Whoa, Adam. Stop.”

He doesn’t like this anymore. This is no longer a fun ride. This is out of control, the mirrors in the funhouse broken, the ride spinning with no brakes.

He smiles though, just a quick one to let Adam know that it’ll all be ok, to let him know that they’re still friends, they just have to stop now.

Maybe Adam misinterprets, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just doesn’t care. Tommy doesn’t know. What he does know is that Adam squeezes again, lips on his again, sealing them together.

Tommy begins to struggle. He’s done now. This game is over. He wants to be done with it. Away from Adam, away from all of them.

He continues to struggle, to try to free himself, but just as he does, he feels two hands wrap around his wrists, bringing them up and back to the mattress.

He’s pinned now, the hands around his wrists, the one around his throat, holding him still as effectively as rope. Pinned, Adam's body between his legs, keeping them parted, useless. He can’t move, no advantage, no way to create forward motion. He feels like one of those butterflies, pinned to a mounting board. Pinned and exposed and fragile and vulnerable.

He tries to turn his head to see who’s doing this, to see which asshole doesn’t realize that the fucking game is over. He tries but he can’t see, can only see Adam. Adam above him, over him, inside him. Adam too fucking close, Adam taking and taking and taking.

And he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t fucking stop kissing him and won’t fucking let him breathe and there’s a part of Tommy that wants to curl up into a little ball and cry and there’s another part of him that wants to punch Adam so hard that his heart stops.

He does neither. Not even when Adam finally lets him go, not even when the other hands loosen and slink away. He does nothing but lie there gasping, one shaky hand coming up to rest against his lips, rubbed so raw they feel as if they’re bleeding. His other hand touches his throat, and he can feel it when the air passes through it and down into his lungs.

“Fuck, Tommy, that was hot.”

He doesn’t know who says it. He doesn’t care.

He’s angry, feels betrayed, but more than anything, he feels strangely ashamed. He can’t meet their gazes. He doesn’t even try. He doesn’t want to see them and doesn’t want them to see him.

He gets up, lurching, bent over as if from a wound.

“Hey, you ok?”

That’s Adam asking.

Adam.

Tommy doesn’t answer, grabs his coat, keeps going.

He doesn’t understand how Adam can act so concerned.

Is he ok? Is he?

How the fuck should he know? How the fuck should he fucking know? He doesn’t even know what that was. Did that even happen? Did that even really fucking happen?

“Hey, come on. We were just having fun.”

That’s Taylor. He knows that voice too. He knows all of their voices. But he doesn’t know them. He feels like he doesn’t know them at all.

“I gotta go. Don’t feel so good,” he says, and that’s mostly the truth.

They don’t say anything else, not after Cam says, “Let him go guys, he’s tired.”

He makes it to his own room where he heads straight for the shower. Under the spray he makes it as hot as he can, and it barely registers that he scrubs too hard at his throat and his wrists.

He doesn’t know what he should feel, now that time is distancing him away from what happened.

And what did happen? It was just a game. He overreacted. Didn’t he? Did he? Did he not react enough?

He slips into bed nearly an hour later, hair still wet, still too buzzed for his mind to properly hold onto thoughts.

He vows to think about it tomorrow. He just needs to get some sleep. Tomorrow he can sort out if he should feel foolish or betrayed.

Tomorrow he will meet their eyes and not try to remember what it felt like to be that butterfly, pinned open, helpless and exposed.


End file.
